


the best intentions

by youcouldmakealife



Series: in taking it apart [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:12:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is why you shouldn’t sleep with teenagers. This is his punishment for being a bad person. </p>
<p>Never again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the best intentions

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I've made a tumblr for the gigantic universe I seem to have fallen into, and would love it if you would mosey on over! I'm [here!](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/youcouldmakealife)
> 
> Thanks to Clo, who makes me tea and and has been letting me crash in her room! Meanwhile I just sit on her bed and write porn. I am a sucky guest.

It happens again. Mike doesn’t know why the fuck he’s even surprised.

Mike’s set his alarm early enough that Liam has time to take a shower before heading home, comes out fresh and clean, painfully boyish, maybe looking marginally less like he spent the night getting his face fucked then insisting on fucking cuddling, who _is_ this kid?

Marginally less is still a little, a little too much, honestly, and Mike was a fucking idiot because Liam’s mouth is red with stubble rash, something he hopes Rogers doesn’t notice, or at least turns a blind eye on. Rogers is a worrier, so that’s unlikely, but if Mike doesn’t keep hope alive he’s going to just crawl into bed and hide until Liam’s all shiny white and innocent and not a pain in his fucking ass anymore.

It’s tempting to just give up the day as a total wash when Liam bounces out of Mike’s place, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, managing to press a kiss against Mike’s jaw while he’s distracted, and disappearing before Mike can tell him that _no fucking way are they doing that, no, bad rookie_. 

Mike tries to drown himself in the shower, and when that fails, he puts on his big boy pants and goes to practice.

Practice is, thankfully, uneventful, other than the fact Rogers keeps eyeing Liam like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Mike doesn’t have to see any of these guys until they fly out to San Jose tomorrow, so he gets the fuck out of there the second he can, debates picking up some whiskey and trying to drown himself that way, or going out tonight, finding someone a little closer to his age, to his type, to fuck someone who won’t need or even want to spend the night with him. 

Of course, that’s all derailed when Mike gets to his truck and Liam’s sitting in the cab, hair still wet, plastered to his head, because he’s a fucking moron who really should be taking winter a little more seriously. If he catches a cold, Coach Mulligan will have his pretty little head.

“Out of my truck,” Mike says, and Liam climbs off, comes to hover in Mike’s vicinity. “No. Whatever you’re thinking, no.”

“I told Roge I was going to your place to play video games,” Liam says proudly.

Mike stares at him. “What did he say to that?” he asks.

Liam scowls. “He laughed at me,” he mutters.

Mike knew there was a reason he liked Rogers.

“I’m not playing video games with you,” Mike says flatly.

“I know that,” Liam says. “But Roge already left, so you might as well take me home.”

Fucking brat thinks he’s being _clever_ about this, god help him.

Mike unlocks his car door. “You make good money, rookie,” he says. “I’m sure you can afford a cab.”

Liam’s lower lip juts out.

“Are you actually pouting at me?” Mike asks incredulously.

He is. He’s fucking _pouting_ at him.

“Are you _five_?” Mike asks. This is why you shouldn’t sleep with teenagers. This is his punishment for being a bad person. 

Never again.

*

Mike has no idea why Liam is in his house, but goddamnit, he is.

“We’re going to play video games,” he says. “And you’re going to deal with it.”

“Fine,” Liam says, completely insincerely, and goes to examine Mike’s console set-up.

“These games are all _old_ ,” he complains.

“I’m old,” Mike says. “Deal with it.”

Liam, with a great show of reluctance, finally picks a first person shooter, and then sags with disappointment when Mike hands him a controller. But Mike is a man of honor. Sometimes. The point is, he said they’re playing video games, so they’re playing fucking video games.

They’re halfway through a level when Liam theatrically yawns, and Mike senses movement out of the corner of his eye.

“If you actually try to put your fucking arm around me right now, I am going to break that arm,” Mike warns, not looking away from the screen.

There’s a baleful silence coming from the other side of the couch.

Mike doesn’t give a shit. He doesn’t. They will play video games, and Mike will take him home, and he’ll go to bed early like a good rookie with a game the next day, and then maybe Mike will stop hating himself for giving into a great ass, an angelic face, and a fucking _pout_.

*

They’re in Mike’s fucking bedroom because Liam is an unrepentant tease and Mike is a bad man. 

He hates himself a little right now.

Not enough though, because Liam’s mouth is red and bitten, scratched up again from Mike’s beard, and when he tugs his shirt off, Mike can see he’s flushed down to his chest, like all it takes is a little bit of kissing before he comes undone.

Mike reaches to unbutton his own, and Liam says, “stop,” fast. Mike does, raises an eyebrow at him.

“Keep your clothes on,” Liam says bossily, then, almost shy, “Could you keep them on?”

Still a virgin and the kid’s already becoming a kinky little fuck. Mike approves of this. 

Mike drops his hands from his shirt collar, reaches out to reel Liam in by the belt loop instead. Liam’s cheeks are flushed darker now, as much embarrassment as excitement. “What,” Mike says, tipping his head so his mouth brushes Liam’s ear. “You want to blow me, sprawl out naked while all I’ve got is my dick out?”

Liam exhales, hard, then shakes his head decisively. “I want you to fuck me,” he says, bossy. “And I want you to do it with your clothes on.”

Mike feels kind of like the air’s gone out of the room. Fuck this fucking kid, his heart can’t handle this shirt.

“Strip,” he says, short, and Liam pulls back and does just that, shucking his pants and boxers and crawling onto the bed, hands and knees. Mike wonders if he knows what he looks like, broad shoulders, trim waist, the line of his spine, the sweet curve of his fucking _ass_. He probably does. He probably planned it this way, and Mike can’t regret that right now. 

Mike ignores the bed entirely to go for his bedside table, and Liam glares at him until he pulls out a strip of condoms and a bottle of lube, when his breath goes sort of shaky. Mike isn’t going to keep asking him if he wants this--he suspects at a certain point, Liam will actually bite him if he keeps asking, and he’s pretty sure the kid will make it very clear whether or not he wants something. He isn’t exactly the type to suffer in silence.

Mike gets behind him on the bed, can’t help but take a moment to admire the muscles of his back, his body all compact muscle except his thick skater’s thighs, an ass Mike wants _in_ on. He nudges Liam’s thighs wider, until he’s spread out, obscene. Liam’s hair, no longer damp, has curled loosely, and he smells like ice and the locker room and the stupid body wash that all the younger guys seem to think makes them irresistible to women. Mike’s fingers curl around his hips, pull him closer, and Liam’s breath catches, first when Mike tugs at him, and then when he brushes his mouth against the small of Liam’s back, soft skin under his lips. 

“Liam,” Mike says, low.

“Yeah?” Liam asks, uneven, all the cockiness out of his voice, so he sounds like what he is: a virgin splayed out, naked, bracketed by Mike’s body. 

“You say stop, and I’ll stop,” Mike says, and he can feel Liam tense up beneath him, prepare to say something, probably denying that he’d ever say stop, gathering his cockiness reserve to himself, but it just comes out as a rush of air when Mike gets his face between Liam’s legs, rubs the flat of his tongue over Liam’s hole.

Mike’s always loved this, man or woman, loves pulling reactions out of someone, the sweet ache that usually accompanies making someone beg, having them fall apart beneath his tongue, around his fingers. Liam isn’t the exception, he’s beautifully responsive, his breath hitching, sounds so low Mike’s unsure he knows he’s making them. When Mike pulls back just long enough to slick his fingers, Liam makes a protesting noise, hips nudging back, and Mike doesn’t make him wait, presses his mouth against Liam’s thigh while he slides a finger into him. Liam takes it easy enough that Mike doesn’t have to wait long before adding another, knows exactly what to do because Liam rewards every moment of pleasure with noise, at first, and then, once Mike’s three fingers in and rubbing against his prostate, with cussing Mike out for taking it slow.

“Patience,” Mike says, mouth curling into a smile against Liam’s skin, and Liam says, 

“Fuck you, old man, fucking _fuck_ me.”

“You’ve got a dirty fucking mouth, Fitzgerald,” Mike says, and Liam actually _growls_ at him. 

Mike’s tempted, then, to take it slow, have Liam come around his fingers, under his mouth, but he’s selfish, and Liam’s hot and tight, clinging around Mike’s fingers. There is no part of Mike that doesn’t want to be in him, get his teeth into him and his cock in the clutch of his body. 

When he pulls his fingers out, Liam shoves his hips back, tries to keep them in him, making a discontent noise. Mike moves up his body, kisses his shoulder. “Want it on your knees?” he asks, and Liam hesitates before shaking his head. “It’s easier that way,” Mike warns, but Liam twists under him until he’s sprawled out on his back, flushed, his eyes glassy and his mouth bitten red, and Mike isn’t going to say no to looking at him like that, stoned with pleasure, as Mike buries himself in his body.

Liam’s so hard his cock is curving against his belly, and there’s wet spot on the sheets he’d been dripping onto, untouched. Mike rubs his thumb under the head, and Liam practically kicks him. “Just--” Liam starts, and Mike doesn’t need him to finish the sentence, reaches blindly out, fingers catching on foil. He tears a condom off the strip, getting his jeans and briefs down just enough to get his cock out, grateful for the relief, finally, of not having his cock trapped. He rolls the condom on himself before slicking himself up, and Liam watches him do it, eyes fixed on where Mike’s hand is wrapped around his cock, where he juts out of his jeans. Mike can’t keep his eyes off it either, it’s so much more obscene like this, Mike covered everywhere but there, while Liam’s beneath him, legs spread, slick and open, bare.

“Wrap your legs around me,” Mike says, and Liam does, ankles tucked around Mike’s waist, his cock wet against Mike’s flannel shirt. Mike gets a hand around himself, guides himself, slow, until the head of his cock is nudging against Liam’s hole. He opens his mouth, but Liam cuts him off, either psychic or just impatient. 

“Just do it,” he says, and Mike isn’t going to ignore permission, not when he’s got this kid under him, lean and strong and fucking begging for it. 

He fucks in slow, can’t do anything else, Liam even tighter and hotter than he was around Mike’s fingers, the latex of the condom doing nothing to hide it. He takes it as easy as he took Mike’s tongue, Mike’s fingers, as pretty, his eyes falling shut and his mouth slack and open, red bitten, wet. With his head tipped back, his throat’s a long line that Mike wants to get his teeth in. He’s fucking beautiful beneath Mike, almost unbearably so. 

The only reason Mike doesn’t give into the urge to bite him is the idea of Liam going home, marked up, obvious, and Rogers fretting like an old woman. He does mouth at his throat, though, clean skin, salt sweat, the lingering bitterness of that Axe shit, scrapes his teeth over where Liam’s pulse is pounding, fighting so hard to keep slow, to not just fuck up into him and take his own pleasure, even if Liam could take it, even if Liam would probably fucking love it.

Instead, he inches in until he’s balls deep, Liam’s body hot around him, his hand around Mike’s arm, nails digging into Mike’s bicep through his shirt, a dull sting. It settles him, though, that small pain, and he forces himself to focus on that, ease himself in, while Liam’s eyes open, just slits, and he serves him a pretty impressive glare considering he’s got Mike above him, around him, in him. He knocks his foot against Mike’s back, and Mike’s no idiot, and never one to ignore the permission he’s been given, so he moves, finally, a slow, even pace that he can’t hold onto, not with Liam goading him on, with words and look and the way he takes it so well, every push of Mike’s cock getting a reaction. 

Mike wants him. It’s insane how much Mike wants him, how desperately, how he can be in him, have the kid wrapped around him, and still want more, not even entirely sure what it is he wants, truly, wants to take him apart and put him back together. Wants to wreck him, and is afraid he could.

“Please,” Liam says, “ _please_ ,” and Mike doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, but he does his best to give him it, to do it right, hips knocking against the curve of Liam’s ass, his fly probably digging into his skin, but Liam doesn’t complain, doesn’t make a word of complaint, just pushes back into Mike’s thrusts, nudging the pace faster, harder, until it’s almost brutal, Liam’s hand braced against the headboard so he doesn’t slide up against the sheets, Mike intent on tasting him everywhere he can, the hinge of his jaw, the hollow of his throat, the slick heat of his mouth.

The only friction Liam’s getting is where his cock is rubbing up against Mike’s shirt, and his expression goes from slack, stupefied pleasure into something edging pain, until Mike gets his hand between their bodies, gets his hand around him, the rough, quick pull that has Liam’s nails digging in harder, has Liam whining into his mouth when Mike can’t resist the pull of his lips. “C’mon,” Mike says, rough, caught, chasing his own pleasure. “Liam, _c’mon_.”

Liam’s breath hitches into something nearing a sob, and he comes with his teeth in Mike’s bottom lip, striping Mike’s wrist, the cuff of his shirt, and Mike can’t hold on much longer, hips stuttering, rhythm gone as he fucks in, in, in, comes with Liam still panting against his mouth.

Mike stays in him as long as he can, face tucked in Liam’s throat, probably unbearably heavy once he’s stopped bothering to hold himself up. Liam doesn’t complain, just lets his legs drop on either side of Mike when he gets tired, one hand still in Mike’s sleeve, the other coming up to card through Mike’s hair. Mike would complain, but it feels good, and he doesn’t particularly want to move, stays there until he starts going soft in Liam, then pulling out and getting rid of the condom.

Liam’s a mess, a blotchy red all over, covered in his own come, slick with lube and dotted with beard burn from when Mike couldn’t help himself, a red welt on his ass from where the button of Mike’s jeans must have kept hitting him, not that he’d said a word of complaint. He looks well and truly fucked, satisfied and still slutty about it, and if Mike had a better refractory period, he’d be getting right back into him, wishes he could fuck him bare and lick his come right out of him, get Liam to sit on his fucking _face_.

But it’s all idle thoughts, because he’s fucked out, and Liam looks half asleep already, drowsy and content. “You’re not sleeping here,” Mike warns, rolling onto his back beside Liam. 

“Hm,” Liam hums, noncommittal. Sleepy sounding.

“No,” Mike says. “Go home.”

Liam rolls onto his side, tucks his arm around Mike’s waist, his nose nudging against Mike’s neck.

“Game tomorrow,” Mike reminds him.

“Mhm,” Liam hums, presses a kiss against Mike’s skin.

“Ugh,” Mike says, and lets his hand settle on top of Liam’s where it’s curled around Mike’s side.


End file.
